


You Promised Me We’ll Meet Again

by Oyanachi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oyanachi/pseuds/Oyanachi
Summary: In the early 1820's, Italy learns the truth about Holy Roman Empire...
Relationships: Holy Roman Empire/North Italy (Hetalia)
Kudos: 26





	You Promised Me We’ll Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Tu m'avais promis qu'on se reverrait](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/654157) by Oyanachi. 



> The English version of my very first Hetalia fanfiction I wrote in my first language back in 2014.  
> I wanted to translate it just for practice at first, but some people asked me an English version of it as well, to be able to fully appreciate it. So here it is. Let me tell you though my writing skill evolved (fortunately!) and I myself am not very found of this writing anymore.
> 
> By the way, it's supposed to be the most canon accurate possible, according to the manga strips, but also some doodle sheet Himaruya never finished (*coughs* as we are used to lol)

_“When the war is over, I’ll come to see you for sure._

_\- I’ll wait. I’ll wait with plenty of sweets. Don’t get hurt or sick. Let’s be sure to meet again. Promise me that. Can you promise me that?_

_\- You’ll always be my only one love!”_

Italy opened his eyes and the dream vanished.

He was having the same dream for several nights now. Or rather he was living through the same memories again and again. However, it was now more than two centuries since he had seen him.

He sat down in his bed, bringing back his legs against his torso. Then, he put his head on his knees and mechanically smoothed the sheets.

Was he fine? What was he doing? Was he thinking about him too?

But Italy was still without news. Although it wasn’t like he didn’t try to keep updated. But Austria, whom he was still in service of, never wanted to answer him. Austria was surely still full of grudge against the betrayers who had abandoned him…

Still a little bit asleep, Italy glanced at the room dived in a golden brown glow that the thick curtains filtered from the daylight. Then, he felt stricken with a terrible nostalgia. He opened curtains and windows and fully enjoyed the warmness of this end of summer. A little breeze raised his brown strands and he profoundly inhaled the morning air.

\- Ah! Ita-chan! a voice called out

Italy lowered his eyes and discovered Hungary in the yard, splendid and elegant in her men’s clothes, riding her horse and surely coming back from her morning walk. She was waving at him and Italy replied the same way, a big smile blossoming on his face.

\- Good morning Hungary!

\- Did you sleep well?

\- Yes and you? How was your walk?

She shrugged.

\- Oh, as usual, you know.

\- I see, I see.

\- I’ll dash to get changed and we’ll see each other in the kitchens, alright? Mister Austria hosts lunch today.

\- Alright! See you in a minute!

Hungary nodded and cracked the reins. Her black stallion left at a gentle trot to reach the stables.

When she had totally disappeared from Italy’s point of view, he closed the window and went to change all cheerful.

Few minutes later, Italy hurtled down the stairs of white stones of Austria’s house, before showing up in the kitchens, happy and full of life. Any bitter of nostalgia had flown away. He plunged his finger in the fresh cream, was reprimanded by an apprentice chef, shrugged and laughed catching a slice of bread. Then, he settled down against a piece of furniture and waited patiently, humming a Latin tune taught from his grand-father.

Finally, Hungary arrived. She was finishing tying her headscarf under her long hair, but she stopped as soon as she discovered Italy. She had a little smile and ended up sighing.

\- You know Mister Austria is going to lecture you once again for being dressed like that, don’t you?

A slightly amused look on her face, Hungary looked at the green skirt, the white apron, the balloon-sleeved blouse and the lace up boots. Italy rocked on his feet, a completely innocent expression over his face.

It didn’t matter that Austria scolded him. What Italy wanted was to stay in the dress. He knew well he was a boy and that one shouldn’t do something like that. Not even then. But it wasn’t bothering him more than that. Furthermore, he absolutely had to wear this dress. Every single time.

How would he recognize him if he was dressed as a boy? How would he realize that the teenager Italy was now had been this girl whom he had made his declaration to long ago?

Hungary got him out of his thoughts:

\- And what do you do about the clothes Mister Austria gave you?

\- They’re in my wardrobe.

\- I see… oh dear, Ita-chan…

She rolled her eyes, amused.

Then, they focused both on the preparation of lunch.

While Italy was having fun making his pie dough fly like a pizza chef, Austria showed up in the kitchens, totally bowled over.

\- What do you mean? Are you not ready yet?

\- Don’t worry Mister Austria, Hungary replied, everything’s alright. We are in times.

\- No, no, no! Lunch will never be ready for his arrival! O woe, O despair!

Austria let himself fall, for it was of course unthinkable for him to slump, on the first comer stool and profoundly sighed. Hungary went to massage his shoulders.

\- Come on, everything’s alright. Everything’s gonna be alright.

Austria put a hand on Hungary’s and thanked her with a smile.

Italy put his dough down with lightness and asked:

\- By the way, Mister Austria, who’s coming to have lunch?

Austria suddenly turned his head like he was discovering Italy for the first time and speedily took his hand off Hungary’s, the cheeks lightly pink. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses back on his nose.

\- Hm… well… you will see. It is a visit that might please you. It has been a quite while since you have seen each other.

Italy’s look lit up all of a sudden.

Would it be possible that…?

His heartbeats abruptly increased and time suddenly seemed to flow in an awful slowness.

Austria picked himself up and pointed out to him, the tone suddenly way colder:

\- Italy… is it really a dress you are wearing?

Italy looked away. Austria sighed.

\- How many times do I have to repeat you to dress like a man? Time of misunderstanding is past. You are a man; you must dress as a man!

\- But I’m feeling well wearing a dress. And it doesn’t bother anyone…

\- Yes, it is: it is bothering me! And I am the master of this house. So you are going to give me the pleasure of changing!

\- But why?! Italy rebelled. Those clothes are more practical for working.

\- Because you are a man. Go to change! Immediately!

Hungary got between them and attempted to calm things down.

\- Come on, Mister Austria, maybe it isn’t necessary to lose your temper like that; maybe we can find an agreement, don’t you think?

Silence descended upon the kitchens. Austria glared at the dress while Italy was starting to keep a low profile, ready to give up. Then, Austria suddenly turned away and declared before leaving the room:

\- Very well. But at least he must be in proper clothes in front of guests.

Italy embraced Hungary to thank her before turning back to his dough, full of ingenuity.

When lunch time arrived, Italy slipped away hopping to his room and whistling a happy tune. He was convinced that today will be the most beautiful day ever.

His trousers, the white tights, and his shirt made of brown cotton had been disposed on the bed. He winced: he wouldn’t recognize him if he’s dressed as a boy. He was still sure of it.

But Italy promised.

He sighed, taking the dress off of his slender body and putting on the clothes. Then, finally ready, he looked at himself in the mirror for an instant.

Being dressed as a boy made him feel weird…

He passed his hands on his torso while asking himself if _he_ would accept him even as a man. Thereafter, he foolishly smiled, as he was imagining _his_ reaction and his cheeks blushed. He started snorting like an idiot, alone, thinking about their future reunion.

Still carried by the euphoria of the happiness to come, Italy got out, meeting at the dining room for the lunch which Austria had invited him to, which was rather rare in itself. All of this can only announce a joyful occasion.

Passing by, Italy bumped into two maids who were giggling:

\- What a beautiful blond hair he has… so pure! It’s just a little bit longer than the average and falls as a light waterfall would.

\- And his eyes? Have you seen his eyes? This blue, it’s so intense!

\- Oh, yes. So deep, so mysterious. When he stares at you, you really can’t know what he’s thinking about.

The two maids really looked like they were daydreaming.

Italy’s heart skipped a beat and he suddenly felt it banging so strongly in his chest that the teenager felt like his entire body was going to explode.

It was _him_! It was really _him_! _He_ was back!

He was trembling of excitement and rushed to the dining room with great strides.

Some few meters. Some few meters and they would be face to face again being able to fix their gaze on, to feel, to touch each other.

Italy had now the hand on the handle.

They would be together again. And nothing would separate them ever again. Oh, of course, _he_ would be astonished of being in front of a man, but Italy was sure everything was going to be alright. At first, _he_ wouldn’t dare believing it and then… just a glance, or maybe even just a smile, and _he_ could only be sure that Italy had been this little girl.

Italy had a lump in his throat. They were now only separated by a door.

His legs were barely carrying him and his hand was trembling so much that it was hard for him to assert his grip on the handle.

Feverish, he opened the door.

The wait was now over.

Italy got into the dining room, heart filled with hope.

Austria was already sat at the table and in front of him was his guest. Taller than he remembered, leant on his elbows, France seemed comfortable.

Something broke up in Italy. He looked at France, his own look suddenly lackluster. All fever disappeared in an instant. His shoulders slumped. His euphoric smile faded.

It was France.

But then… where was _he_?

Italy mechanically turned his head all around, desperately looking for the one he had been waiting for more than two centuries now.

Where was _he_?

He had a lump in his throat but he tried to recover composure as soon as he noticed France and Austria’s look. He had a poor smile.

\- Hello big brother France, he said with the whole enthusiasm he was able to find

Austria spread his arms, sincerely delighted:

\- Ah! What a pleasure to see you like this! That is so much better. Don’t you think France?

France smiled and pushed back a blond strand behind his ear.

\- But as usual, of course! If only you had wanted to be mine…

Austria forced out and France giggled, aware of having made his host mad. Then, the master of the house turned to the teenager.

\- Well, come on, don’t stay settling yourself there. Come on and sit down.

Italy nodded, hurried up smiling and went to his place close to Austria.

Where was _he_?

\- We were talking about Prussia, Austria told Italy, swallowing a mouthful of wine

\- Oh, I see. And how are you, big brother France?

France sighed.

\- Ah! If you knew, my little Veneziano… Napoleon tired me. You can’t even imagine…

He drank down in one his wine glass and gestured to Austria to serve him another one. Austria pinched his lips together disappointed by so much impoliteness, but complied even though.

Italy was feeling embarrassed; he really wasn’t expecting France to be here. Not that he didn’t like him, but he was expecting… someone else so much…

A shadow passed through his usually so smiley face.

This detail didn’t fail to catch France and Austria’s attention who sent each other questioning glances.

\- Is everything alright, Italy?

\- What?

Italy stuck a new enthusiastic smile on his face.

\- Ah! Yes! Eh eh…

This moment seemed to last an eternity. No sound came to break down the silence at the table. France sighed.

\- You were expecting someone else, weren’t you?

Italy suddenly raised his head, surprised of being unmasked. He didn’t dare answering.

\- Oh… sorry, Holy Rome is no longer.

Italy froze.

\- Eh?

His throat tightened.

\- You must forget about him, France advised running a hand in his hair, you’ve already suffered enough, don’t you think?

Eyes unfocused, Italy didn’t react. He got up abruptly. His whole being was trembling. He lowered his head, barely hiding his expression distorting, and left the room in silence.

Austria scowled at France, who shrugged with a little contrite smile.

Italy slammed the door of his room after him. His face was contorted, doing his best to hold the emotions though they were overwhelming him. He slid down along the door and buried his head in his knees.

It could only be the worst day ever.

He raised a torn face where numerous sensations were mixing up. His eyes fixed upon his clothes.

Those men’s clothes…

Italy suddenly dressed off, almost snatching the clothes, throwing them on the floor with rage and disgust. Mortified, he stayed a while like that, nothing more than a nascent sorrow for dressing him. Then, he caught his dress and put it on before running away from this house where he had been waiting for more than two centuries.

Arriving at the river, he broke down on the bank. For a moment, nothing happened. Or rather nothing was noticeable. And suddenly, Italy screamed.

He shouted to tear himself away from his vocal cords, maiming his young voice of a mature man. He started to cough. His face was red, his features drawn. He snatched the grass in a furious movement of rage. He hit the ground with his fists, getting them scratched. His voice broke up upon the tears suddenly rushing, gushing out, burning his eyes and taking his sight away as an army of murderous droplets.

His heart was hurting him.

It made him feel nauseous; he could almost vomit. His face was soaked. He felt like at the same time he was strangled and his heart was caught, like he was showered with blows and his hair was snatched, like he was cut off from the outside and had to keep it all inside. Even though he was evacuating everything, absolutely everything, an invisible strength was trying to restrain him.

The mouth deformed, the nose red, the eyes swollen, he looked at his reflect in the water for a moment before abruptly holding back his muddy hands on the face. Only the convulsions shaking him were distinguishable and the sniffing was detectable. Sneaky teardrops slipped between the interstices of his fingers and despicably grasped his arms.

And then, little by little, he gave up on the ground. His tears didn’t cease and now got lost in the abundant grass. He was sobbing, suffocating and noisily sniffing.

He was seeing nothing, hearing nothing other than his sorrow and pain. He crossed the arms on his stomach and curled up.

He tried to contain once again his sadness but it exploded in him, crushing his heart, destroying him inside before insidiously getting out his painful eyes.

\- You… you promised me… he stuttered with a trembling voice.

Hungary looked for Italy for a long time. The afternoon was already far advanced when she found him sitting down close to the river, far away from Austria’s house. After Austria had told her what happened, Hungary went in search of Italy, turning again and again in her mind what she was going to tell him.

But as she was now seeing him, all the fine words she could have found had flown away.

For a moment, she looked at Italy: still, he almost looked serene from behind. At first, Hungary didn’t dare coming closer. When she finally found the courage, she moved towards him and put her hand on his shoulder.

Italy jumped and abruptly turned his head in her direction. His face was distraught, his look lost, his eyes empty and lackluster. Hungary felt her heart tightening. She couldn’t find anything to say. Then, she threw herself on Italy’s neck and embraced him as strong as she could. Italy snuggled her and cried for a long time.


End file.
